


Hidden Springs in the Desert

by atamascolily



Category: Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, Jedi Training, Mentor/Protégé, One Shot, Power of Words, Rites of Passage, Tatooine, from a certain point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: On a world where true names have power, the wizard Ben Kenobi comes to give a boy his.





	Hidden Springs in the Desert

**Author's Note:**

> I love the power of names and Ogion's relationship with Ged in Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea novels, and wanted to carry those tropes over to Obi-wan and Luke in _A New Hope_.

The desert was a harsh teacher, but a fair one. It had many lessons for those wise or desperate enough to heed them, one of which concerned the power of names. 

On Tatooine, rock was not merely rock, sand not simply sand; a thousand subtle shades of meaning ran through the local dialect, peppered with expression untranslatable in standard Basic, as generations of settlers adapted to their new home. There was _domki_ for the touch of shade at highest noon, with the double suns at zenith; and _ashren_ , the night wind blowing off the desert that bears no moisture and sapping away any traces in its path. _Soyanmar_ , the angle of the light that generated mirages; _ritas_ ,the delicious coolness of shelter underground, _morwes_ , the thick-walled adobe houses, _zimask_ , a sudden sirocco -- these and many other things had their names. 

The landscape was an integral part of the language; to be ignorant of geography was to be ignorant of the self and one's place in the world. The vast emptiness of the salt flats, the wind-swept curves of the Dune Sea, and the redrock canyons of the Jundland Wastes each had their own names. Every child could and did learn them, in songs and stories and everday speech, before they could even walk. _For what good is walking if you don't know where you're walking?_ is an old saying in the settler villages and freeholdings on Tatooine. 

And with good reason. In the desert, where life and death balanced together on a knife's edge, knowledge of the landscape separated the living from the dead almost every time. A man who missed the hiss of of an approaching sandstorm or the woman who lingered too long under double suns without precautions did not survive, and hordes of womp rats feasted upon their bones. There was no forgiveness in the desert for those who could or would not learn these lessons. 

But those who had the skill and power, the dedication and focus, the gift or the curse (depending on one's view of it) could go further still. They learned the true names of things - the word that did not merely describe something, but _was_ it. Between a physical being and its true name, there was no boundary, no seperation, no falsehoods or ambiguities. A true name simply _was_ , and knowledge of it was not held or used lightly by the learned and the wise, who held mastery over what they named. 

Those who knew true names--witches, wizards, sorcerers or mages-- were not always loved or trusted, but they were always respected and even honored. With the right words alone, they could pull water from the air, mend a broken speeder or keep the banthas from straying. To say no talent was required for those feats would be a lie, but it was different from the skills of those who learned their crafts through more conventional methods. 

People on Tatooine had true names, too, and those who held the magic were the ones who taught every child theirs in the passage to adulthood. To know someone's true name was a rare and precious thing, a sign of great intimacy and greater trust - a confidence between lovers, or an affirmation from dearest friends, for to know a being's true name was to have complete power over them. As with all true names, it was not a power that was ever given or received lightly. 

Some folk never spoke their true names, but hoarded them to themselves as they did their water. For both were life here on Tatooine, water and names alike, and one could not survive if one were missing. Some forsook their true names when they left the world, flinging the words aside with the desert dust. But those who stayed on-planet smiled sadly and shook their hands, or made gestures to avoid ill-omen at the very thought of abandoning their truest selves. Perhaps on other worlds, the rules were different, but on Tatooine, there was no escaping or ignoring the power of names. 

Those who were born under distant stars scoffed at the idea that words alone could heal or hurt real flesh and real matter. They claimed it peasant superstition or a particularly vivid metaphor, not the simple truth of life under the harsh gaze of twin suns. They understood threats and warnings, but only if supported by a blaster in hand or a knife in the dark. They could not imagine anything different than what they knew, so they rarely saw what was directly in front of them. 

No doubt the Sand People had their own names, but they kept those secrets to themselves, along with everything else of their people. Whether the settlers had learned the practice of naming from them was a matter that had never been resolved.

***

Wormie was nineteen when it came time for Old Ben to take him out into the desert to learn his true name. He was tall and lanky, slippery and evasive with indomitable stubborness, like the sandworms that writhed through the dunes, from which came his use-name. He lived with his aunt and uncle on a moisture farm fifty kilometers northwest of Tosche Station, coaxing the wheezing 'vaporators when they failed on a daily basis and running rings around his age-mates in his T-16 Skyhopper. 

The night before Ben came, he heard his guardians arguing late at night, when they thought he was asleep. He crept down the dimly lit underground corridor towards the living room, eager and curious to learn the cause of his uncle's great fear of this transition. 

"--It's not right," he heard Owen complain bitterly, "--he's an off-worlder, he doesn't understand our customs, it's not right to let him take our nephew out like this--" 

"Ben understands well enough," Beru said, her voice weary and ragged, as if this was a well-trodden path she and her husband had gone down many times before. "All of Wormie's age-mates in the sector have had their ceremony with Ben, without any problems, and it's past time for his, Owen. You can't keep him a child forever. At some point, he has to strike out on his own, find his own destiny." 

"That's what I'm afraid of," Owen growled. "That wizard is _dangerous_ , he mislead Anakin in _his_ ceremony, I don't want him to meddle with his son, too--" 

The eavesdropper's eyes widened at this revelation. _Old Ben knew my father? And gave him his true name?_ He'd never even suspected that the hermit who lived on the edge of the Jundland Wastes might have some connection to his father, who had run away from Tatooine, abandoned his name and his family, to be a pilot on a spice freighter before he'd died in an accident. The true names of the dead could be spoken freely, as they were beyond all help or harm. 

Not even the strongest magician could bring back the dead, although there were legends and rumors of those who had tried. 

Beru sighed. "He's coming tomorrow, Owen. You can try and keep him off with a blaster if you like, but it will be better for everyone if you keep the custom. Perhaps once Wormie receives his true name, he'll settle down and forget about applying for the Academy again." 

Privately, Wormie doubted this, and he could tell by his uncle's snort that Owen did, too. But he surrendered to his wife's good sense, though not without a few complaints. "It's custom, and there's good reason for it. I just hope that wizard knows what he's doing, that's all." 

"He knows true names, and that's enough," Beru said simply, and the conversation was over. Wormie decided that was his cue to return to his room before they discovered him eavesdropping outside. 

***

Old Ben came at second dawn, a brown-robed silhouette in the distance that grew larger and larger as he approached the Lars' moisture farm. Wormie saw him on the edge of vision as he raced to complete his morning chores, his heart beating rapidly with excitement. 

He was ready to be a man. He didn't know what that entailed, exactly, but it had to be more exciting than his life thus far. One way or another, things would be different after today. And perhaps he would learn more about his father -- and have a chance to see some real wizardry up close. 

Owen didn't have much truck with anything out of the ordinary, preferring what he called "honest mending" that any man could learn with patience and time. It was prideful of him to refuse honest help, and pride in the desert could be deadly, but Beru bore his rants patiently, and did what she could to mitigate the consequences. Luke often saw her consulting Aunty Mira over in Anchorhead, or her quiet acceptance of a good-luck or run-well charm from Vree'kesh the Rodian when Owen's back was turned. 

Wormie himself painted good luck charms all over his T-16 Skyhopper, runes that his best friend Biggs swore meant speed and victory in races. He'd had to paint them in ultraviolet after his uncle had spray-painted over his first set, but so far they seemed to have held up pretty well under the intense stress Wormie put on them. He'd beaten Biggs the last few times they'd gone out womp rat hunting in Beggar's Canyon, which pleased him immensely as Biggs was two years older and shipping out to the Imperial Academy to be a pilot soon. 

Old Ben had given Biggs his true name six months ago, and Wormie had been wild with jealousy. "What's it like?" he demanded after his friend returned. "What _happened_?"

Biggs shook his head. "Sorry, Wormie, I can't tell you. You'll know what goes on soon enough." And he'd refused to say anything more, no matter how much Wormie and pleaded and swore himself to secrecy. 

Biggs never lorded over his newfound status - not like that jerk Fixer out in Tosche Station, who'd adopted his trade as his use-name - but he couldn't hide the touch of pride in his voice, nor the subtle shift in his attitude that made Wormie burn with jealousy inside. That night at dinner, he'd asked Uncle Owen when his own ceremony would be. 

Owen wrestled with the lump of bantha gristle on his plate, unable to meet his newphew's eyes. "You'll have your ceremony when it's time," he said at last. 

"But I'm ready _now_ ," Wormie said. 

"A real man can be patient," Owen muttered, and Wormie recoiled as though he'd been slapped. 

Beru's gaze flickered from her nephew to her husband, and rushed to soothe them both. "Soon, soon. We'll have a talk with Old Ben soon." 

"Not him," Owen said, not so easily placated. "Anyone but him. Dirty, thieving wizard--" 

"Owen, there aren't any other men in the sector who can do what Ben does--" 

"I WON'T HAVE THAT FILTHY HERMIT IN MY HOUSE!" Owen roared, slamming his knife against the table. 

Wormie fled, his face burning, as the two continued arguing. He went up to the edge of the family compound, a ring of stones perched over the sunken courtyard where he'd lived his whole life, where he always went to watch the double sunset. 

_I'm ready,_ he said wordlessly to the desert. _Ready, ready, ready. Ready to go, ready to be free of all this, ready for adventures, to fly among the stars--_

But he didn't want to leave without his true name. Without your true name, you were nothing, or so he'd been told all his life; he didn't want to be a child forever. Though he admired those aliens who shed their names so casually on their distant stars, he knew he wasn't like them. For better or worse, he would have to wait until Old Ben came for him. 

So by the time the wizard reached the edge of the Lars' compound - careful not to venture any further onto Owen's territory - Wormie had finished his chores and was waiting for him on the threshhold, trying and failing to contain his vast excitement.

"Ben Kenobi! Boy, am I glad to see you!" Wormie said, before he realized how young he sounded. Stupid. Childish. He flushed. "Shall I bring the speeder around for you?" he asked, in a slower voice. 

The wizard pulled his brown hood back, revealing a wrinkled face, worn by time and the desert winds, but not hardened by their passage. His eyes were keen and shining, and his posture was straight and strong, making him appear ageless despite the white hair and beard.

Wormie had often seen Old Ben at a distance, in passing, but never this close; Owen had never let his nephew linger if the old man was near, and would jostle him if he caught him staring. 

"Please," Ben Kenobi said, quietly and kindly, but firm. "That will do nicely. We have a long journey before us, and the heat of the day will be on us soon." 

Owen was down in the kitchen, unable to watch Wormie leave in the company of a man he despised, so only Beru was there to see their nephew depart. He waved to her once, before the speeder took off, and he flew away into the desert with the wizard, their destination unknown. 

***

Old Ben let Wormie drive, which made him a nervous, but Ben was a quiet passenger, offering only the occasional laconic direction to guide their path. He'd insisted that Wormie turn off the navicomputer; evidently, he didn't want their passage to be tracked. The air was quiet and still, and the only sound was the whine of the speeder as the kilometers sped by. 

There were so many questions he wanted to ask Ben. Why he had come to the moisture farm alone and on foot? How long had it taken him to walk, and how had he come so early when it was so dangerous to travel at night? Why did Uncle Owen hate him so much? What did the naming ceremony involve, and where exactly were they going to do it?

The last question was the most pressing, as the speeder carried them beyond the lands whose names he personally knew. He was in a foreign place now, and though he knew the general terms -- could name the arc of rock or the swirl of sand beneath them, he knew nothing of the particulars, only vague generics that lacked the power and immediacy and _safety_ of his familiar stomping grounds. 

But wizards were strange folk, and he feared his ignorance and curiosity might cause offence. With Ben so eerily silent, it didn't seem like the right time or place for those discussions. Maybe after the ceremony? 

At length, they reached the beginning of a vast network of slot canyons carved out of redrock by waters long since evaporated. Here Ben signalled for Wormie to bring the speeder to a halt. They hid it behind a small outcrop as best they could, and then they entered the maze, Ben leading the way, with Wormie following close behind him. 

They walked for a long time. Old Ben set a brisk pace, and Wormie had to work hard to keep up with him. The top of the canyon towered twenty meters above them, but was only two or three meters wide, and occasionally less, which made for a tight squeeze in places. 

The suns were rising rapidly, but the canyon was cool and dim, with the occasional brilliant shaft of sunlight plunging through sporadic gaps. The redrock, the color of smouldering embers in shadow, flamed wherever the light touched it, and was nearly as warm to the touch. Wormie put his hand out to catch himself, and jerked it back, mentally cursing himself for a fool. On Tatooine, it was wise to be careful of such things. 

Eventually, the canyon narrowed again, and dead-ended into a pile of jagged boulders. The rock here was darker than it was elsewhere, with a curious, slick sheen to it. He realized he was looking at the impossible: the rock was _wet_ with moisture, but how could such a thing be here on this parched, desert world? 

As he approached Ben, Wormie gasped, for not only was water trickling down the boulders in the rockfall, but it collected in a shallow pool at their base. The water was so clear and still in the pool he could see the red sand grains gleam at its base, polished like jewels by the quiet movement of the water. 

This deep underground, there was no wind. The only sound was the slight drip of the water and his own heartbeat. 

Old Ben said, "Take off your clothes." 

"What?" He hadn't spoken in hours, and his surprise made him clumsy and awkward. "I don't understand," he added unnecessarily. 

"When you came into this world as a child, you were naked. When you come into this world as a man, you must be naked as well." 

If that was the price to pay for becoming a man, so be it. He nodded, and stripped.

Ben didn't strip, but led him by the hand out into the water when he was ready. The water was cold, and he wasn't expecting it; he gasped as it flowed over and around his legs, making it harder for him to walk. He'd never been in water this deep before in his life, and he was grateful for Ben's steady grip to keep him from falling. It was beautiful, but unsettling, all this water. 

Ben made him kneel, so that everything but his head and shoulders were submerged. Then Ben let go of his arm, and pushed him down, head and all into the water, so for a second, he thought he was drowning, and then he was yanked back up gasping and dripping into the air again, as Wormie was washed away and Ben gave him his true name to take its place. 

He could never describe exactly what happened. He felt the touch of cold water on his hair, felt the pressure of Ben's hand on his forehead, and a tugging or pulling from the _inside_ of his skull, as if something buried deep inside was awakening from a long slumber--

" _Lukasyndri_ ," Ben said, and though he spoke softly, the sound reverberated through the canyon. The word for a hidden spring in the desert, a long lost hope rediscovered, a source of unexpected life in a wasteland. 

Something in him _recognized_ what Ben was saying, and it felt like coming home, quenching a thirst he'd never known existed until the moment it was extinguished. No arbitrary word, this; but a true name. 

_His_ name. Now and forever.

Lukasyndri coughed as he hacked up the water he'd inadvertently inhaled. He let Ben guide him out of the pool and back onto dry land. Even in the shadow of the canyon, his skin dried quickly as the greedy air sucked the moisture out of it, leaving him refreshed and cool. Ben gestured for him to dress, and he complied. 

As Ben led him back to the speeder, he took one last look at the sacred spring - the spring whose name he now shared. The ripples he and Ben had made had long since vanished, and all was tranquil and still, the only reflection redrock. 

He would carry that image with him for a long time. 

*** 

There were Sand People at the speeder when they emerged from the slot canyons. Lukasyndri opened his mouth to say something, but Old Ben cut him off with a gesture. Then the wizard cried out, a great rolling boom, the roar of a krayt dragon somehow emerging from a merely human throat. 

Unnerved by the sound of a predator so close and so hungry, the Sand People fled. 

"How did you do that?" Lukasyndri asked in awe. 

"It's not so difficult if you know the true name of a krayt dragon," Ben said, in his normal human voice. "Some wizards can even take on its form, although it's a messy business, if you ask me. I prefer a more--subtle approach. But we must move quickly. The Sand People are easily startled, but they'll soon be back, and in greater numbers." 

"Are we going home?" 

"To mine, at least," Ben said. "There is much I have to tell you now that you are of age, although your uncle will not thank me for it." 

This sounded promising. Perhaps Ben would tell him stories of Anakin, or offer him a quest. Anything would be better than languishing in obscurity on the farm. 

They got into the speeder and flew away across the desert to the wizard's dwelling. 

***

Ben's house was small and humble, on the edge of the Great Jundland Wastes, where few settlers ever ventured. They ate and drank a humble meal of bread with oil, dried meat and fermented greens, and Lukasyndri took the opportunity to ask the wizard some of the questions that buzzed around his mind. 

"I don't understand what happened back there in the canyon," he said.

Words failed him, but fortunately Ben understood what he was trying to say. 

"I took your name, and gave a truer one. Well, 'gave' is not quite the right word - I saw what it was when I looked at you, and I said the name of what I saw. Now you know it, too." 

"I want--" Lukasyndri said, then changed his mind and started over again. "I don't want to go back to Wormie again." 

"You can take any use-name you want, whenever you want, as often as you want. It doesn't change who you are inside." 

"But I don't--" He stopped, again at loss for how to express himself and forced himself to meet Ben's gaze. It was taboo, what he was saying, beyond taboo, and yet he couldn't deny what he felt in his heart. "I don't want to hide who I am anymore. I don't want any other name but this one." 

Ben chuckled - in sympathy, Lukasyndri realized after a moment, not derision. "A dangerous inclination, but an understandable one. Might I suggest using a shorter form as a compromise?" 

"You can _do_ that?" he said, astounded. 

"It's a common practice in other systems," Ben assured him. "Here, not so much, but I don't think anyone will question you too closely. 'Luke,' I think, will do very nicely for you." 

Lukasyndri--Luke now--nodded. "Yes," he said. "I like that." 

"Good," Ben said, and went over to a chest in the corner, from which he took something long and silvery that Luke had never seen before. "Your father wanted you to have this when you learned your true name," he said, handing it to Luke. 

"What is it?" Luke asked. 

"It was your father's lightsaber," Ben said, showing him the tiny switch on the side. "This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight - not as clumsy or random as a blaster - a more elegant weapon for a more... civilized age."

As Luke flicked the switch, there was a snap-hiss, and a bright blue blade emerged, humming and crackling in the air as he moved it from side to side. Then, struck by a new question, he extinguished the blade and turned back to Ben. "My father was a Jedi Knight and not a pilot on a spice freighter?" 

Ben chuckled. "Anakin was an excellent pilot, but your uncle was not completely forthright with you. He was afraid you'd follow after old Ben on another damnfool idealistic crusade if you knew the truth." 

"You fought in the Clone Wars together?" 

Ben nodded. "Before the dark times. Before the Empire." 

Something about the way his eyes darkened made Luke hesitate, but he asked his question anyway. "How did my father die?" 

There was a long pause, and Luke wondered if he'd upset his host with his impertinence, but at last Ben spoke. 

"A young Jedi of mine named Darth Vader, who was a pupil of mine before he turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights. He betrayed and murdered your father." 

Luke drew in a sharp breath. 

"Vader was seduced by the dark side of the Force," Ben continued. 

"The Force?" Luke repeated. 

For a solitary wizard, Ben was awfully forthcoming, and Luke was glad of it. "The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things - it surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together." 

"So a Jedi doesn't need to know the true name of something in order to work with it?" 

"That's right," Ben said. "It's a very different system from the native magic here on Tatooine. I can use the Force or I can use a true name, and so could your father. Owen never trusted the the power of names, but he trusted it even less after Anakin left with to study off-world magic, I'm afraid. Which reminds me." 

He turned to two droids switched off in the corner. One was short and stubby and silver, some sort of astromech, and the other was tall and golden and shiny, and roughly humanoid. The wizard pressed a button somewhere, and the little astromech rolled to life with a series of trills and whistles, while the other one sputtered with a human-sounding gasp back into consciousness. 

"Play the message for us, please," Ben said to the astromech, and with a twittering whir, a holo of a woman in white stood half a meter in the air in front of the droid. 

She was beautiful. That was the first thing Luke noticed. Then there was her voice-- calm, authoritative, yet somehow welcoming, in spite of everything -- and oddly familiar somehow. He stared, unable to take his eyes off her image. 

"General Kenobi," the holo figure said, "years ago, you served my father in the Clone Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father's request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and I'm afraid that my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion in the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to access it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour.

"Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

And then the message cut off, and she was gone. 

"Obi-wan Kenobi," Luke said slowly. "Is that you--?" 

"Indeed," Ben said. "Now you know my true name and I know yours. Though I am an off-worlder, so it doesn't have quite the same meaning for me as it does for you. Still, there's a power in every name if one knows how to use it." 

"I would never--" 

"I trust you, Luke, or I would not have shown you this message. Besides, you must learn the ways of the Force if you are to come with me to Alderaan." 

So this was his big break. Here was his opportunity, just as he had always dreamed. A name, a mission, a quest, a mentor, and a beautiful woman, who needed their help. 

He felt so very, very young. He knew Owen and Beru would object. And yet, if he turned it down--

He thought of the _lukasyndri_ , the spring emerging from the depths of the redrock canyons, the slick cool wetness against his skin as he shed his child's use-name like a sandworm's skin to reveal the true form underneath. He'd spent his whole life on this desert world, and it was no longer enough. His true name was that of a hidden spring, yet he could no longer hide who he was. 

Perhaps on other worlds, he wouldn't have to. 

"Master," Luke said. "I want to come with you to Alderaan. I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father. There's nothing for me here now that I have my true name." 

Ben--Obi-wan--patted his shoulder in wordless acceptance. They went out the speeder together, the two droids trailing in their wake.


End file.
